Not Completely Terrible
by Shadowed Violin
Summary: Severus hated Harry Potter. It was a simple fact. But while struggling through yet another Occlumency lesson with the Golden Boy brat, he encounters some rather disturbing information pertaining to the teen's decidedly not-so-spoilt upbringing. And he can't help but think that Harry isn't quite as terrible as he'd first thought. [Not a romance!]


**Not Completely Terrible**

_Shadowed Violin_

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**_[Please be warned that this story contains swear words]_**

"Potter!" Snape snapped.

He glanced up. "Yes? Sir?" His eyes swam wearily.

The Professor's lips narrowed into a strict line. "Why is it, _Potter,_" he sneered, "that you cannot concentrate for longer than two minutes? You must have acquired you father's genes," he snarled, black eyes glinting dangerously.

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from replying…That would do no good, as he had come to learn _very _fast at the Dursley's. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again," he apologised in a low voice, eyes darting around the Potion's classroom like he was hoping for a rescuer. _As if, _he snorted.

"Something funny?" Snape growled.

Harry shook his head, his black fringe falling into his eyes.

"Again!_ Legilimens!_" The Professor spat out, and, before Harry could reply, could call out, could brush his fringe away, could do _anything _but blink, his mind was awash with memories and the feeling of someone clawing through them viciously.

Harry's breath's shortened, his thoughts awhirl, completely beyond his control.

Snape was angry. Scrap that, he was goddamn _furious. _The pathetic boy failed dismally at Occlumency; the brat was begging the Dark Lord to invade his mind! Stupid child, why had he even bothered to show up for this lesson if he so obviously didn't think himself, Dumbledore's _Golden Boy, _worthy of lowering himself to such _mundane _lessons? Did he think himself so _above _everyone else that he didn't have to practice Occlumency? _Oh, of course,_ Snape growled, _Potter is better than everyone else. Perfect Potter, always the heroic Gryffindor. _

Incensed, the Professor ripped through Potter's mind without thought for gentility nor kindness – and, on some level, Snape realised that this was inexcusable, that what he was doing was wrong. No matter his feelings for the boy, it wasn't right, bruising his mind like so; wreaking havoc and grasping at memories – some most likely private…but honestly?

He wasn't sure he wanted to stop. This was James Potter' son – the offspring of a man who'd made Severus's life at Hogwarts as horrible as his home was.

Harry panicked. Snape was _looking at his thoughts_, going through his mind! Another image went past, and he tried to block the man from seeing it, but he couldn't, he was too _weak, _too stupid, too useless - !

_It was his first Potion's class, and without a doubt Harry had been looking forward to this class the most out of all of them._  
_Eagerly, he grasped his quill and sat, quivering in his chair, in excitement. _Today, _he thought in wonderment, _Today, I learn Potions. I learn the very _essence _of magic, of binding random ingredients together and giving them a new purpose – a higher, grand purpose – that would _help others, _and he could do this – he, Harry James Potter – could finally be something other than just a "stupid, useless freak of a boy" that "tainted" his household, his Aunt's precious "Duddykins".

I can be someone to no-one, _he bit his lip. _No longer will I be a no-one to a someone.

_Glancing down, he noticed detachedly that his hand was shaking. _Concentrate, Harry, _he warned himself firmly. _

_A loud _Clang _resounded through the Potion's Laboratory, and he jerked his head up._ Professor Snape, _he thought in reverence. "That's the Potion's Master of Hogwarts, Harry," he remembered Hermione telling him. "They say he can brew a Revictiloper Grastintiok in under thirty minutes!"_

_The man, tall and imposing, stalked into the room, his black cape swirling ominously behind him. He seemed impossibly frightening, and besides himself, Harry couldn't help feeling a little afraid...but this man was not his Uncle Vernon, and he'd do well to remember that._

_Harry paused._

_Or was every man like his Uncle? Every woman like Aunt Petunia? Every child like Dudley?_

_And despair swept through him like an avenging wind; for if that was true, then it was hopeless…it was all…just…hopeless. _

_"__I don't expect you to appreciate the subtle art of Potions," Harry's Professor began, and the sound of his voice – the velvet of broken glass – jerked him out of the reverie that he'd fallen into. "After all," he sneered, "you're just another generation of complete and utter morons."  
Terror swept through Harry. His Potions Professor was sounding an awful lot like Uncle Vernon…_

_"__However," the man continued, "some of you may be more inclined to this class than others, and it is those of you who will be worth my teachings, and so I shall try my best to" – his lips pulled back, revealing a fierce snarl – "_teach _you incompetent twits."_

_Severus Snape's eyes fell upon the tiny, black-haired child before him, and he felt his lip curl and any semblance of a pleasant mood disappear. "So, I see we have a new…celebrity," he spat the last word out with undisguised disgust. "Well, Mr Potter, expect no special treatment from me." _

_Harry shook in his seat, the blood drained from his head, leaving him feeling weak and like he was about to faint. "S-sir?" he raised his eyes imploringly up to his impossibly tall Professor. The Potion Master's eyes narrowed, and he towered over Harry, alarmingly angry. "I'll have none of your cheek, boy!"_

_Ice pooled low and deep inside of Harry._

_Boy._

Boy.

**Boy.**

And Harry remembered – and what an odd phenomenon, to witness memories within a memory – his Uncle, and his words – and other voices, other times - but most of all...Harry remembered the pain.

...

_'You stupid, pathetic freak! You fucking waste of space! Get out! OUT! I want you away from my family this instant, you piece of shit! It's your fault your parents died, you know that?'_

_'__I hope you die…I honestly do, with all my heart…'_

_'__There will be none of that freakishness, boy!'_

_'__Freak!'_

_'__DON'T SAY THAT WORD UNDER MY HOUSE!'_

_'__You ruin everything, you know that…?'_

_'…__stupid…'_

_'__How dare you look at my Duddykins that way?!'_

_'__Wanna go Harry Hunting, Piers?'_

_'__No-one cares about you, and you know why? Because you're nothing. You're no-one.'_

_'__BOOOOOOY!'_

...

_"__Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Harry apologised to Professor Snape obediently. Inside, he quaked._ What had he been thinking?! This man was just like Uncle Vernon and now he'd –he'd-

The Harry who remembered this moment, who was aware that meeting Professor Snape for the first time was the past, screamed. A loud and enraged yell – _Who did this man think he was, tearing through his thoughts?_ – and, with no regard for "barriers" or "subtle evasion," jerked Snape out of his mind in absolute and unrivalled fury.

_He would be violated no longer._

And it was that strength, that anger coursing through him that allowed Harry to Occlude his mind and finally achieve what he and Snape had been working towards for months – sealing his mind against outside invasion.

_STAY-OUT-OF-MY-MIND!_

Harry's eyes opened. He was lying on the floor in Snape's class, where they always practiced Occlumency lessons. Blinking away the darkness of his vision, he slowly sat up, and then quickly fell back down onto the cold marble floor when he realised just how bad of an idea that was.

He felt the sick in the back of his throat, and, nauseated, he forced it back down.

"Here," a soft voice said, pushing something into his hand, "drink this. It'll help." Too weak to object, Harry lifted the vial, and with his head pounding in persistent agony, swallowed the vial quickly – it tasted horrible, like the green Berty Bott's Every Flavoured Beans. It helped immensely, soothing the ache in his head and the shortness of his breath.

Feeling well enough to venture another 'eye opening', Harry pulled himself up and leaned his weight on his elbows.

"What was that?" and that voice, which before had been soft, almost gentle, was now…_ the velvet of broken glass…_demanding.

"S-sir?" Harry managed to slur. The anger was gone. It was all…_gone._ He was too tired to care, he realised, and the fact almost made him laugh, because he'd been in such a rage there, for a moment…but Snape _knew…_he knew just which buttons of Harry's to push that made him react in the worst possible way. Blinking his eyes, Snape came into vision. His Professor was draped similarly to him across a chair, looking only slightly bedraggled, his long, hooked nose tilted severely in Harry's direction.

"The second memory – was that your family?" Snape insisted agitatedly.

"Just a dream, sir."

Severus scowled, yet said nothing. What did he care, anyway? The brat was probably spoilt by his family – and as for the first memory…well, suffice to say Snape wasn't quite sure _what _to think, and so he decided to leave it at the back of his mind – for now…

"Sir?" the timid voice came again, and Snape flicked his eyes at the teen lying on the floor, a slight sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

"Yes, Mr Potter?"

"Sir, may I be excused?" Snape lifted an eyebrow. _In a hurry, much, are we?_

"You may. Lessons will proceed as scheduled on Wednesday next week. Continue your practises and read Chapter Eight and Nine. Oh, and Mr Potter?" He waited for the teen's eyes to meet his. "Do not be late," he whispered menacingly.

Nodding slowly, the boy clambered to his feet and practically ran through the door. Sighing, Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

And another thought, this one not welcomed in the least…

…That maybe, just maybe…

…Harry wasn't like his father…

…and not _completely _terrible.

Mind you, not _completely. _


End file.
